


go far beyond where we stand

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rain's coming down so hard that his apartment vanishes from view almost as soon as Danny turns off the windshield wipers, but through the blur of a stormy Hawaiian afternoon, he can still make out a tall, dark figure hovering by his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	go far beyond where we stand

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sheafrotherdon for betaing.

The rain's coming down so hard that his apartment vanishes from view almost as soon as Danny turns off the windshield wipers, but through the blur of a stormy Hawaiian afternoon, he can still make out a tall, dark figure hovering by his door. Danny shakes his head, muttering softly to himself as he undoes his seat belt—because really, the time between the prison processing him for release and the time Danny can make it out to Oahu Correctional, that's too long for Steve to wait?—and sprints across the parking lot in a futile attempt to avoid getting drenched himself. By the time he gets to his door he can feel raindrops running underneath his shirt collar, making him squirm, but Steve's standing there shivering and trembling. His hands are clenched in fists at his side and his eyes are wide and dark.

"Goof," Danny tells him softly, running one hand briefly down the length of Steve's arm before unlocking the door. Steve's wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing when he was booked—damp and stained, but one hell of a lot better to look at than an orange jumpsuit. "What, this is the time you develop a conscience about breaking and entering, huh? Couldn't wait for me inside, you want to get a dose of walking pneumonia instead?"

He tugs Steve in behind him, one hand full of sodden cotton t-shirt while the other fumbles for the light switch. Danny figures he should probably ask how Steve got from the prison to Danny's apartment complex—for all Danny knows, there could be a hijacked tank parked around the corner from his building—but he's entirely unsurprised to find that as soon as the lamp flares into life, illuminating an apartment still strewn with the detritus of this morning's early start, Steve turns him so that they're face to face and folds himself around Danny. His arms tight around Danny's waist, the span of his back; Steve's cheek is damp against Danny's shoulder.

Danny closes his eyes, says "Hey, hey, c'mon buddy, it's okay now," hugging Steve back as strong as he knows how—wraps his arms around Steve's middle and holds on fiercely, because he has no idea what'll happen if he stops.

The front door is still open, rain pattering against the wood floor, pooling with the water that's dripping from their clothes, and Danny can't make himself step away. The realization's enough to fill him with a painful, hopeless sort of affection, enough to make him shudder out a breath and take that half a step closer so there can't be any mistaking his intent.

"C'mon, babe," he says, coaxing Steve out of his wet t-shirt, "no need for this, c'mon," spreading his palms wide over the newly-bared skin of Steve's back. He measures out the span of Steve's shoulder blades, the fine curve of his spine, the sensitive shiver of scar tissue, tugs loose his own shirt and reaches out blindly to shove the door closed.

"Danny," Steve says, pulling back suddenly and looking down at him with wide eyes, like he started this without thinking how it was likely to finish—and that's just Steve all over, isn't it, running back to him through the rain and not realizing that they're both liable to drown if he doesn't just stay; if Danny doesn't meet him half way. Outside, the banked mass of storm clouds finally surges all the way in over land, and the thunder breaks loud enough to make the windows rattle. Even with the lights on, the room grows dimmer, and the air's humid enough that Danny can taste salt when he licks his lips. "I know," Danny says, reaching up to cup Steve's face in his hands, "believe me, I get it, is this the face of someone who doesn't get it?"

Steve looks at him for a long moment, and whatever he sees in Danny's face makes those terrible lines around his mouth, his eyes, relax just enough—reassures Danny that when he pulls Steve's mouth down to his and kisses him that it's not six weeks' grief that Steve's tasting, that it's more than just a storm that's tossed the two of them together. Danny kisses him and puts everything into it, touching Steve everywhere he can, undressing him, stroking him with shaking hands—into every press of their mouths together, he puts today's frustration and sadness, months of exasperation and happiness and family, and this, always this. Always them, the two of them together—the safe harbour in the storm.


End file.
